


Coming together (coming undone)

by Khimaira



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Come Marking, Dom/sub, Fisting, M/M, Scent Marking, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Subdrop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25451305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khimaira/pseuds/Khimaira
Summary: Geralt chokes on nothing. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt, different from the rhythmic predictability of being fucked. He has no idea if it is better or worse, can barely remember what it feels like not to be this full.Jaskier lovingly fists Geralt within an inch of his life.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 357





	Coming together (coming undone)

Jaskier’s come is a hot brand on Geralt’s face. He can feel it seeping into his pores, his body hungry for every little piece of Jaskier it can suck up and keep and never let go. The smell of it is heavy, heady, filling up his nose and almost drowning out the myriad scents around them; beeswax from the candles, chalky dirt from their boots, a hint of iron from the blood stain he wasn’t quite able to wash from his shirt the week before.

Jaskier languidly strokes his own softening cock, teasing out the last of it, like he doesn’t want a single droplet to go to waste. When he offers Geralt his fingers, Geralt latches on thankfully, licking and sucking at the final traces like a runty puppy last to the teat. Jaskier hums, pleased, and Geralt feels warm and proud and good. The wooden floor is hard under his knees, but he would stay like this forever if it made Jaskier happy.

Jaskier never likes to keep him uncomfortable for too long, though. He ushers Geralt to his feet, towards the bed. Geralt lets himself be pushed down on sheets that smell clean and dry. Jaskier’s hands, brilliantly dexterous, are everywhere on Geralt’s naked skin, stroking and scratching and teasing. Geralt lets himself be touched, be appreciated. 

When Jaskier’s hands press lightly against the insides of his thighs, his legs spread wide before his brain has even registered the command. His body is Jaskier’s as much as his own to control. Maybe even more so, on nights like this. Geralt doesn’t have the words to express how comforting that thought is.

Geralt is already wet and open from before, and he takes Jaskier’s fingers with no effort at all. They’re long and elegant and wickedly talented, and when they crook against his prostate, Geralt’s moan is torn from his lungs. His body is Jaskier’s instrument.

Geralt welcomes a fourth finger into his ass, and Jaskier rewards him by licking where their bodies meet, teasing at the stretched rim. He spreads his fingers, forces his clever tongue in between them, and Geralt keens.

“More.”

Geralt isn’t used to asking for pleasure, accustomed to taking what is offered in return for his silver. Nothing seems to please Jaskier more than to make him beg and then give him everything.

Jaskier’s smile is wickedly sweet. “Anything, my love.”

More oil is worked into him, until it’s running down his thighs and sticking to coarse hair, messy. Jaskier’s fist glistens in the candlelight as he drenches that as well. Then the fingers are back inside him, easy as anything. Even the tip of Jaskier’s thumb is able to join without too much trouble. The next part is trickier, even with Jaskier’s hand expertly folded up, and the stretch is intense. It’s the good kind of pain though, the one that is worth the hassle for the fire it lights in his belly and the tingle it sets of in every nerve in his body.

Soon enough, Jaskier’s entire hand is inside him. It’s an odd sensation, something his body wasn’t designed for and is unsure of how to deal with. Unconsciously, he tries the clench down, useless against the behemoth that is Jaskier’s closed fist. It’s terrible and divine, and it steals the breath from his lungs.

His eyes meet Jaskier’s, desperately searching for something to help ground him. Jaskier’s eyes are pale blue embers, burning their way into Geralt’s soul and cradling it safely.

Jaskier keeps his fist completely still as they breathe together. Geralt does his best to copy the steady flow of Jaskier’s breath, gazes still locked.

“Ready?”

Geralt thinks that Jaskier is probably the better judge of that, and this is unlikely to feel any less impossible with time. He nods.

Slowly, gently, Jaskier starts to move his hand. Not pulling out, but rather twisting slightly back and forth, stroking Geralt’s insides with his knuckles.

Geralt chokes on nothing. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt, different from the rhythmic predictability of being fucked. He has no idea if it is better or worse, can barely remember what it feels like not to be this full.

“Fuck.” He barely recognizes his own voice, like it’s coming from afar.

Jaskier kisses him, soothing him with soft lips and dirty tongue.

“Stay with me, Geralt.”

“Always.”

For a second, Jaskier looks surprised, and Geralt’s stomach plummets.

Then Jaskier’s whole face lights up. “Always,” he echoes.

**Author's Note:**

> My biggest kink is Geralt being happy and properly taken care of :)


End file.
